Insomniac
by Miniji
Summary: Teenaged Tweek stays home alone for the first time. He spazzes. It's fluffy. Creek slash.


Hallo! ^.^ This is the first (completed) South Park fanfiction I've ever written. I will warn you that I have no beta, and that I wrote this all in one sitting, and that I finished it at approximately 3:15 am the other night…. Thus, it's a very likely probability that it is nowhere near perfect. Rated T (what is that according to older terms? PG 13? I've been out of the loop for way too long. Though, fortunately, in Canada rather than Peru) to be safe.

South Park and its characters do not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. I just enjoy playing with them 3

Shrek 2 also does not belong to me. Neither does The Late Show nor The Late Late Show. The _Really_ Late Late Show, however, is apparently a figment of the imagination. Likely acidspin's imagination. Ultimately, that also does not belong to me.

Enjoy.

***

Tweek figured that it had something to do with the gnomes and the way that they'd always come to steal his underwear at exactly 3:30 in the morning. At least, that's the way that he rationalized his growing obsession with numbers as he grew up. He was fourteen-years-old now, and the psychological mayhem was developing right alongside him.

Not that it was as visual to a casual observer—Tweek had finally gotten a hang of buttoning his shirts correctly around age 10, and he'd grown less vulnerable to fits of shaking (due largely to relaxation tapes and meditation advice from Clyde). However, things aren't always as they appear.

For instance, around age 12, he got into the habit of calling, " See ya!" to friends and family members after leaving their presence. Every single time. He figured that the world was a dangerous place, and that if in parting he offered the promise of a reunion, his words would be a safe talisman for his loved ones. A simple, "See ya!" would be enough to prevent someone from getting taken hostage by the gnomes, or being brutally murdered, or—oh, God!—experiencing any other terribly gruesome outcome.

This rationale was thrown out the metaphorical window after an afternoon spent with Kenny, as the poor boy had been violently run over by a runaway golf cart shortly after parting ways with Tweek.

Thus, at age 12-and-a-half, Tweek began insistently saying, "Bye!" to friends and family members after leaving their presence. He'd say it every day when Craig left study hall to go to his physics class. When his father walked down the sidewalk to gather the mail. When Token crossed the school after classes to have special "AP Study Sessions" with Kyle and Wendy. Whenever. One could never know when the inevitable might happen, and what if you never got to say a proper goodbye before that? It just wasn't acceptable to Tweek; it was too much pressure.

The world was a scary place; that was for sure. It seemed to Tweek like dangers lurked in every corner—and that fear wasn't completely unjustified. That brief kidnapping stint, with the phony Ghost of Human Kindness? That was terrifying! Sometimes Tweek would think back to that day, and then go lock himself into the bathroom for a few hours, because at least bathrooms didn't have windows through which creepy gay rapists could crawl….

Thus, he easily latched onto methods that made him feel safer—even though he usually realized that some were a bit excessive. Okay, so refusing to even think about sleeping before 3:30 am was understandable. Going through every imaginable nook and cranny in his house before feeling safe enough to try to sleep—checking the locks on the doors and windows, checking all the dials on the stove, making sure that appliances were unplugged and fabrics weren't unnecessarily close to power outlets, making sure nothing and no one was hiding in closets and under beds and below dressers—was perhaps not. Sometimes he would stay up for hours upon hours checking and rechecking "dangerous" zones in his parents' house before going to bed. If he stayed up long enough, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep until 7:00 am, because technically it was 6:60—which was double of 3:30. Needless to say, he still, "didn't sleep…ever." And _that_ was only a dip into the number obsession.

The number 3 was special to Tweek. After 3:30 am—Gnome Time—the world was safe to sleep in. All was right with the world after the "3's" came around. At some point, the number began to symbolize equality to Tweek, usually in the form of "right, left, and middle." For example, if he touched an object with one hand, he had better touch it in the same way with the opposite hand, and then touch it at the same time, in the same way, with both hands in order to right the imbalance of touch. This is why he took to holding coffee cups with both hands, even though the practice had caused him to be called a "faggy freak," by people (namely Eric Cartman). He didn't expect other people to be able to empathize with his system of numerical equality. Of course, it didn't always make sense to him either…in his mind, the concept of "equality" was represented (naturally) by an equal sign…and wasn't an equal sign made up of two parallel lines? And if that was the case, then wouldn't all equalities be made up of twos, and thus only even numbers? Either way, the number 3 was undeniably important.

The number 4 came in handy at times when even numbers became necessary—such as if he had to hold an equal number of objects in his hands. Only two hands, after all, and "2's" got along with "3's" about as well as oil got along with water. "5's" were useful at times, as they were easy to work with—as were "10's," if a situation called for a bigger number. And then came "9's." They were beautiful because they were three "3's."

Numbers made things right in the world. They were comprehensible. They were logical. They made emotions easier to deal with.

However, as wonderful as numbers were, they were certainly not all-powerful. Such was the dilemma that Tweek was currently in. He was home by himself on a Friday night, as his parents had left early that morning for some kind of Harbuck's conference in Denver. They wouldn't be back until the following afternoon; though he was getting close to his 15th birthday, Tweek had never spent a night alone at home.

At first he tried to be mature and calm about the situation, and sat on the living room couch, taking deep breaths. He put a movie into the DVD player (he hadn't paid attention to _which_ movie—it turned out to be the second Shrek picture), and attempted to watch it. He didn't end up paying much attention to it though—except for when Pinocchio's taste in underwear came into question (during which he jumped, screeched, "Ohmaigawd!" and then dissolved into an embarrassing blush as an image of a certain special…someone…popped into his mind, wearing nothing but his customary blue-and-yellow hat and a matching pair of thong panties).

After the credits rolled, he marched to the kitchen and attempted baking apple-and-cinnamon muffins—a process that Butters had taught him, claiming that there was nothing better than baking to, "cheer a guy right up, boy howdy!" This resulted in a mess involving several sticky cutting boards, mixing bowls, and baking utensils…not to mention the muffin pan sitting on top of the stove's burners that was filled with steaming, slimy, half-cooked muffin batter. He'd gotten too paranoid about the possibility that the electrical cords connected to the oven would overheat and cause a fire to uphold the necessary baking time.

The hours ticked by slowly as he kept striving to get through the night alone. He took a hot bath. He cleaned up the kitchen and made himself a quick, but adequate, dinner (cereal with milk, one of the apples remaining after his muffin endeavor, and two cups of coffee). He curled up on the couch and watched the Late Show, the Late Late Show, and The _Really_ Late Late Show—all the while continually flicking his eyes into different corners of the room to ensure that no "bad people" could attack him with the element of surprise. Eventually, the TV channels fuzzled out into grey lines and white noise, and Tweek rapidly hit the power button on the remote before jumping up and starting his nightly wanderings and checking rituals.

Front door locked? Check.

Back door locked? Check.

Downstairs windows locked? Check.

Appliances unplugged? Almost…TV unplugging…. Check.

Stove/oven off and refrigerator/freezer closed tightly? Check.

Wash—

Wait. Tweek strained his ears, looked at his watch, and then paled. 3:30 already! He shrank back into one corner of his living room, mouth agape in horror, paralyzed as the singing of the gnomes grew louder. They marched in, humming, and strode up the stairs and into Tweek's bedroom. Minutes passed, Tweek pressed back against the corner of the wall, sporadically muttering phrases like, "Oh, God!" "Oh Jesus!" "Ngh!", before the gnomes marched back downstairs. They were holding eight pairs of his underwear—Agh! Those were all of the pairs he had left!—and they vanished almost as quickly as they came. Tweek had no idea how they kept getting into his home every night. He checked and rechecked every possible entrance that he could think of. It was frustrating.

At least now he could go to sleep. …Hopefully.

Still anxious from the gnome invasion—sure, he'd experienced it every single night since before he was 8-years-old (and had "displaced" a mass amount of underwear over those years), but this was the first time he'd been _alone_ in the house for it—he restarted his checking ritual. He inspected everywhere from the front door to the bathtub (_behind_ the coffee bean-patterned shower curtain) to the area under his bedroom desk. And then started the process all over again. And then repeated it one more time, for good measure. By the time he finally felt comfortable enough to attempt sleep, it was 4:48 am, and he was exhausted. He shut his bedroom door, locked it, and then turned his light off and on three times. As he had done this with his right hand, he frowned before repeating the light-switching with his left hand, and then again with both hands holding onto the switch at the same time (Tweek figured that this probably looked very silly; he knew that he'd be mortified if anyone ever caught him "equaling out" his bedroom light switch). Then, lights off, he drifted over to his bed and flopped down on top of his covers. Maybe he'd be able to get at least a few hours of sleep—it wasn't like his parents were home to force him to wake up early again, like they did on most weekends.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Tweek covered his face with his pillow, squirming for a second before fearfully crawling over to the corner of his bedroom window and peeking outside from the edge. He had turned his light off and on nine times…what if someone had been watching? Ngh! What if some murderer had been sitting outside, and now knew that he was home alone?! What if someone had thought that the light switching was Morse code, and he'd accidentally said something terrible, like that he was a white supremacist and that he wanted to have a like-minded rally at his house later?! _Oh my God!_ Token! That wasn't what it was meant to mean, really!

Tweek began to panic, which led to hyperventilation, which, of course, led to the outcome of being completely unable to calm down enough to sleep. "Oh God!" He thought while pulling on his hair, "Token is going to hate me after this! Jesus Christ!" He paced across his bedroom, fretting.

There was no other option. He couldn't calm down. Tweek glanced warily at the phone, and then at the clock. It was 5:13 am now. And he _had_ said to call his cell at any time if it was necessary, right…? That Tweek could even wake him up if he had to…. He called.

_Ring…ring…ring…ring…ring—_

"…Heyawha?"

"_CRAIG!_ Oh my God, Craig! You said it was okay to call, so I did, ngh! I hope it's okay! But, agh! You don't know, oh God, Token is going to be so pissed at me! He's going to hate me and never talk to me again!" Tweek squealed, tugging on his hair harder with the hand that wasn't busy holding up the phone, "And the gnomes! The _gnomes,_ Craig! They came again, I—" A disgruntled voice interrupted his rant.

"Tweak?! Ugh—just, just give me a second, okay?" The rustling of blankets could be heard, along with a jaw-cracking yawn, as Craig struggled to sit up and regain consciousness. "…Mngh. Okay. What's goin' on?" Tweek explained everything—his parents being out of town, the gnomes stealing the last of his underwear _again, _and how now that he told the supposed murdering, white supremacist rapists outside his window that he was a kindred soul (with Morse code and everything!), Token was going to kill him. Craig was silent for a moment after Tweek ran out of breath, contemplating.

"So…you're staying home alone for the first time ever, and somehow wound yourself up into believing that our good friend wants to get revenge on you for a nonexistent opinion?"

"Ngh! But, Craig, it—"

"Why didn't you tell me earlier today that you were going to be alone tonight? I would've come over earlier." Tweek could hear muffled sounds in the background as Craig pulled on a pair of jeans and his jacket.

"Well, I-I didn't think you'd want to come…."

"That's stupid." Tweek could almost see the finger that was surely pointing towards the speaker on Craig's cell phone. "Of course I'd want to, you're just my best friend and all. …I'll be over in five minutes."

"But—"

"No buts! I'll see you in a few." Click. Tweek stared at the phone, whispering, "Okay, bye," before hanging up himself and sitting on his bed with his knees up.

As promised, five minutes later a loud knock resounded on the front door. Tweek yelped and then walked downstairs cautiously, careful to not make any sounds on the stairs in case the person at the door WASN'T Craig after all. In which case he or she was definitely not getting inside. The knocking paused for a minute before resuming, louder, along with a muffled, "Tweek! Let me in! It's Craig!" Tweek still looked through the peephole, just in case.

"Craig!" He cried, throwing the door open with relief. The boy was quickly ushered inside before the door was slammed shut and locked up tight again. Craig watched this with a tiny amused smirk, but then he turned and took a good look at Tweek's face.

"God, Tweek. When's the last time you got any sleep? _Real_ sleep?" The petite blond's skin was paler than it normally was, and he had deep dark circles under his eyes.

"Um…um, I don't know! I think I got almost 6-and-a-half hours that one night, sometime last week. That was pretty good…." Craig groaned.

"I'm making you go to bed. Now." Tweek sputtered, trying to find a response, but Craig simply silenced him by giving him the finger and then ducking to catch him off guard and throw him over his shoulder. Then he carried him upstairs, ignoring the protests about treating him, "like a sack of potatoes," and dumped him without ceremony on the bed. He went over to Tweek's dresser and opened the second drawer from the top, pulling out a pair of Harbuck's logo pajama pants and throwing them at him. "Change."

"Ngh! Okay!" Tweek all but shoved Craig out of the room, citing a need for privacy. Craig just rolled his eyes before stalking off to the bathroom, using the facilities and changing back out of his jeans and jacket into his white t-shirt and Red Racer boxers. Not that he really watched that show so much anymore—he started growing out of it around age 12—but it still held fond memories. Then he shuffled downstairs to make sure that all the lights were off, and then back upstairs to wait for Tweek to allow him back into his bedroom.

When Tweek opened his door, he attempted to move out—probably to go through his checking ritual again (after all, he'd let Craig in, so who knew what could have entered the house alongside him…as well as was he _really_ sure that he locked the front door again?), but Craig stopped him by pulling him back into the room and shutting the door.

"Craig, could you move? I need to go and check on—"

"No."

"But, _Craig,_ I need to make sure that the house is safe!"

"It is safe. Don't worry. It's fine. You're fine."

"But how do you _know?_"

"I just do."

"But—" Craig silenced him by grabbing Tweek by the shoulders, spinning him and pressing him up against the wall, and kissing him. Tweek stiffened and cried out against Craig's mouth, but then stilled, watching the other teen's face. Eyes closed, eyebrows knitted in concentration. He could feel Craig's lips pressing firmly against his own, parting momentarily to allow him to nip at the other's lower lip. Tweek moaned softly, unable to help himself. This was everything he'd dreamed about since he was 8-years-old. Everything he'd not dared to let himself dwell on while awake—and especially not in public! Everything that was so, so right….

Launching into action, Tweek responded energetically, reaching up to pull off Craig's hat and tangle both hands into his dark hair. He could feel Craig smirking against his lips as he parted them, and the older teen licked past them just enough to taste the squirmy blond. Then he pulled back, ruffling Tweek's already messy hair, before pulling them both onto the bed.

"Come on, Tweakers. Time to go to bed now." Tweek looked adorably tousled.

"…Okay. What about what just happened, though? We're not just gonna forget about it, right?" He was blushing and refusing to make eye contact. Craig's expression softened as he smiled, leaning forward to brush a quick kiss across his new boyfriend's lips.

"No. We're together now. It's not something you just forget about. We'll talk about it in the morning, promise." Tweek fidgeted, and then quickly leaned over to peck Craig with a final goodnight kiss. That made three, after all, and that was good luck for this new…whatever this situation was. Craig laid down on his side, pulling Tweek up against his chest to cuddle. "'Night, Tweek."

"Goodnight, Craig…." He snuggled closer. A few minutes later, Craig's breathing deepened and evened out, and he began to make little whistling snores. Tweek grinned and closed his own eyes. Maybe he was relaxed enough now to actually get some sleep, for once. Craig was here, and they were safe. Things were well with the world…at least for the time being.

Although, he did wish that the sun wasn't already rising and shining through his curtains and into his eyelids.

***

I apologize if anyone feels that I've bastardized Tweek's obsessions and compulsions. Most of that was written with my direct childhood memories in mind. Also, I feel that the story unravels a bit towards the end…I really have no idea how the kissing scene happened, as I had absolutely no intention of writing that. It just kind of…appeared. xDDD;; Oh, gee. I guess that's what I get for writing about an insomniac while aggravating _my own_ insomnia.

Kenny's death was inspired both by pure randomness and by the uncanny occurrence of some dude driving by on the sidewalk—in a golf cart—near my apartment the morning after writing this. Originally I was going to change it to a hybrid car, to make more sense, but…seeing that as I left for school changed my mind. It was weird. There isn't a golf course _anywhere_ near where I live.

Comments and criticisms would be happily received ^_^


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